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pkray21's profile
AGE:
36
LAST LOGIN: April 04
LAST LOGIN: April 04
For the last three years I have submerged myself in writing. At first it was for only me, and still as I write it is still inately my form of expressing who I am, what I want to become: my fears, my inspirations, my love, my tragedies, my desires. I have at least 500 poems now and at some point I started to share some. Not out of recognition but to become part of a community that believes that the pen, our voice, is the one weapon we truly have. I never have been in to editing one’s poems because I never want to take away from someone elses experiences. Yet unless we share these poems, these moments of life, they will only be ours, wasted words that selfishly lie on a piece of paper when so many people have experienced the same exac…
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Here I go throwing precarious caution against these strong winds. This breeze that you are feeling is not a hurricane, I am attacking you with this pen. With this pen and my paper I can make love to your soul. You are spinning on my carousel and I am the one whom is in control. My pen can become a weapon when I tear it from its sheath. I can take out calmly, boldly, quietly, or discreet. Sometimes my pen becomes a robber whom steals your thoughts just right. Or itcan become like two star cros...
Version 1
2 Reviews
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A cat's meow, let's drink milk with the cows, then dine and dash before we sit down to eat. I can do this sophisticated, or like an algorithm devoid of any complications, carry a big stick if that's how soft you are going to speak. What would you rather me say, I wish I could whisk this all away, an emergency brake that is dying to coast. How do we live in this violence, a bomb stings out with a lack of silence, a weary soldier that combats sleep by his post. But it's not incompletely perfect...
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I think a poem of such nature serves the most basic of ones emotion. When raw emotion, lust, transcends into the perfect moment. This could be someone's first time of real love, of real lust for someone else, or someone's first heartbreak when you lay awake deep in the night wishing that somehow you can recreate that feeling once again and the only way you can do so is by a pen. I didn't quite get the part, or the line "and make me yours-I'm some how proud. It just seems that at this point it...
I first was drawn to the second verse when the shepard saw a sheep with crimson fur. And right away I felt like the sheep was going to be treated as differant, as many people whom stand out are treated as differant. In this case special, unique. And how the sheep was indeed plucked from the others on the merits of its tone of fur. Someone who is differant, unique, talanted, which also sometimes seperates them from everyone else, well the most joy they can derive from their talents is being a...
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